My friends who know me very well know that I am tied with Carrie Bradshaw when it comes to my shoes. In fact, my shoe shelf takes up more than half my tiny one bedroom on the Upper East Side, which incidentally, is only two blocks from where Carrie's was portrayed in the story line on Sex and the City.
When I used to work for Conde Nast, my shoe obsession was even worse. I'd wear 5 inch OTS's ( my friend Diana's code for Open Toed Shoes) in the rain, snow, and below zero. In fact, this one time, I wore a pair of high heeled sandals to church when I was scheduled to Altar Serve. My priest said Melissa, this is Holy Trinity. Not Vogue. I said Monsignor, sandals were good enough for Christ, they out to be good enough for me. He's never confused me with Melissa again in ten years.
Unfortunately, I have to be a little more careful with the crazy heels on my shoes with my seizure disorder and can't indulge in anything too impractical. But, when I did, I was OF AGE- as in AN ADULT, A GROWN UP. It's one thing to be six or seven playing Cinderella in dress up heels in the privacy of a home on a play date. In my book, towing infants around who can't yet even walk in these things is really wrong, and frankly, a little creepy. See link. http://www.heelarious.com/
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